I Love The Dead
by Baldurdash
Summary: Lucien Lachance never felt the same after becoming the Listener's thrall. But he'd like to FEEL her, alright. A silly one-shot I wrote during a rest when playing Skyrim on a tiny tv with no HD gave me a headache.


I Love The Dead

(Summary: Lucien Lachance never felt the same after he became a thrall of the Listener. But he'd like to FEEL her, alright.)

She was the Dovahkiin, Dragonborn. Nightengale. Arch-Mage. A soldier in the Imperial Legion for some reason. (She hated the Thalmor, and Altmer in general.) She loved apples and mead. She was afraid of deep water and great heights. She could kill a dragon without flinching but screamed in terror at the sight of a spider. She was a master of stealth so long as she stuffed her fist into her mouth to keep from giggling uncontrollably. She was fond of smithing and thought mammoths were adorable.

In just a few short months, the spirit of Lucien Lachance learned more than he ever needed to know about his new Listener, Sylbroris.

Sylbroris was a Dunmer, yet had never seen Morrowind. She was fascinated by the stories of Barenziah and had every book ever written about her. She wielded magic as well as blade and bow, and spoke the tongue of the dragons. Yes, Sylbroris was as interesting a person as efficient as she was a killer. He'd been there when her Family fell at the hands of the Penitus Oculatus and he was truly admirable of her skills as the first Listener the Brotherhood had seen in years.

Sylbroris would summon Lucien, and he would be pulled from the ether and come face to face with a horde of draugr, trolls, or pack of bandits. She'd cry out if he was cut down, even though she knew he could come right back and felt no pain. Sometimes she summoned him in the quiet solitude of some inn, just for the company. She was very interested in his life, when he was Speaker of the Black Hand and his stories of murder and mayhem, and always addressed him as Mr. Lachance.

Over time he'd grown fond of her. There were two problems; one, Sybroris was married, and oh yes. Lucien Lachance was dead. Quite dead. Two hundred years butchered by his colleagues, including by the actual traitor they had mistaken him to be.

Onmund.

Onmund was more of a problem than that whole 'dead' issue. Onmund was a steadfast househusband with an odd proficiency in magic for a Nord. Sylbroris admitted during one of her mead/skooma/bard heckling benders that she only married the poor sod because he seemed cute when she got drunk and squinted just right. Then she stopped squinting, sobered up and tried to see if he was worth anything. But his family disowned him for not only practicing the evil art of magic, but marrying a...oh how did they put it? A "greyskin whore."

Greyskin whore! Her skin was indigo, thankyouverymuch, and she NEVER charged for her services. Syl (as she permitted friends and drunk people to call her) also confessed she was also the exact opposite of 'faithful' to her Nord mage. She had in fact propositioned not one but both of those hunky werewolf brothers of the Companions but the maid walked in just as things were getting interesting, and they both chickened out and never brought it up again. Then there was the bard, the other bard, the apothecary, the housecarl, the barmaid...the list went on. Syl's elven promiscuity was hard to shake.

Oh yes. Chosen one, saviour, nymphomaniac.

But at least Onmund was faithful. Syl just wanted to be like Barenziah, have great adventures and fall in love. Silly girl.

Then one night in the archmage's chambers, Sylbroris was annoyed by some epic magical failure she'd caused. Something about the loss of expensive ingredients and some feeling in her face, she summoned Lucien from the void and bade him tell her some story of a grisly murder in lieu of going out and stringing up one of the apprentices herself. Lucien watched with amusement as the dark elf threw around books and scrolls swearing to herself in what little Dunmeri she knew. That was when he saw it. A black soul gem.

"My Listener, I have an idea that might interest you." Lucien said slowly as his idea swelled into his mind, started to bloom into possibility, no, definite. It would work.

Syl spun around, her crimson gaze not quite meeting his face, more like his general direction. "As long as it doesn't involve my rear end I am listening, as it were." Horker tusk. Dwarven oil. Never again. That Khajiit was lucky to still be alive.

"Regarding your black soul gem." The ghost went on, "You of course know it can contain the soul of men and mer. Is it empty at present?"

Syl nodded slowly, wondering what he was getting at.

"What if...you were to use the gem to do the opposite?"

The elf looked confused. "Come again?"

"Use the gem to place a soul in a different body?"

She pondered this for a moment. "To what end?"

"You read in your little Barenziah stories of Jagar Tharn using magic to appear as the Emperor, think of the possibilities if you could truly steal the bodies of another! To damn another for your crimes!"

Hesitating, Sylbroris turned back to her enchanting table "I prefer to be solely responsible for the seeds of chaos I sow."

Had he flesh, Lucien would have facepalmed. Then it occured to him that normal soul gems disappear upon use. They would need something far more powerful.

Azura's Star.

Lucien's ghostly form smiled as he recalled his mistress obtaining the daedric artifact. It could only capture grand soul at best; the soul of a human was far too powerful for anything less than a black soul gem, and Azura's followers abhorred necromancy. Sylbroris had snatched the Star from the clutches of a necromancer seeking to alter it into a reusable black soul gem.

Yes, they could still use Azura's Star to give Lucien a iving form. Too long had he watched and obeyed. Felt nothing. He could not remember any sensations from when he was flesh. Pain, pleasure...no memory. No memory of a memory.

Sybroris listened to him, nodding every so often, as he told her of his plan. His theory revolved around the fact that as a thrall of a Listener, allowed to leave the Void to serve her and her alone. Syl wasn't sure the Dread Father would allow Lucien to act on his own nor did she see the merits of having a body that could die.

Lucien grew annoyed as the Dunmer shot down his idea. Finally she said she would hear no more from the specter and retired. Lucien stood vigil over the slobbering dark elf as she sprawled still dressed in her mage robes asleep on the double bed. Now, he was aware he could only wander so far from his Listener. Still he was driven to find a victim to test his posession skills upon. While room at the College of Winterhold was limited, ever since Sylbroris and Onmund wed and moved to Windhelm there were at lease two free beds in the Hall of Attainment. Lucien sauntered off without hesitation from Sylbroris' side and phasing through walls and doors he found himself staring at the sleeping form of a young Imperial man. He'd seen the other mages struggle to teach this boy, this mageling. He'd also seen said mageling trying to conceal a...well let's just say certain parts of the male body have a mind of their own.

Lucien could not blame the boy; the archmage was rather fetching. He lay down on the bed, trying to mimic the sleeping mage's posture exactly. Focusing, he tried to push aside the mage's own soul but to no avail. To remove it would cause it to wander off and leave Lucien stuck in this body. With that in mind Lucien quickly removed himself from the bed and moved out of sight. There had to be another way. He needed the Star. The young mage slowly awakened, unaware that he had nearly been posessed. He sat down at his desk, scribbled a note on a scrap of parchment, straighted his robes and walked outside into the courtyard. Lucien followed at a safe distance, and to his utter delight saw that the mage was heading to the archmage quarters.

"A-Archmage? I must ask you something."

Sylbroris' crimson eyes studied the Imperial. She was not happy to be roused out of her bed for this stammering moron. She was having a nice dream too, before he stomped in and banged his fists on her door. Her left eye twitched as he fumbled for the right words to say.

But suddenly he looked her straight in the eye. A smirk was on his face, and his eyes...there was something...off.. about them.

"Archmage, if I may be so forward...I have been...fond of you for quite some time."

Sylbroris could hardly believe her ears. But something clicked in her mind. She knew of the apprentice's crush on her, but she only knew one person who spoke like that. Only one man with such an eccentric manner of speech.

"LUCIEN! What have you done? " She cried, then lowered her voice into a menacing whisper. "You STOLE that boy's body! How! Why?"

"Just...testing my theory, my Listener." He shrugged.

Syl wagged a grey (excuse me, indigo) finger at him. "You are...the most...I don't even know." She turned her back on him and stomped off. Then she felt a hand grip hers, turn her 180 degrees and smack into the Lucien-possessed apprentice. She looked at her hand, still in his, as he entwined his fingers with hers.

"Um...so...you...have a thing for me, Mr. Lachance? I had no idea...!" Syl chuckled nervously. His reply was to crush her against his chest. "I don't...I...don't. I..Onmund, ONMU-...!"

"SHHHHHHhhhh..." Lucien soothed her. "You don't want him to see you like this, do you?"

Sylbroris whimpered. He smiled at her, then kissed her on the mouth. His fingers still laced with hers, he dragged her across the room in a sort of dance.

"Ah, I remember! It's all coming back." He drew in a shaky breath. "To breathe! To smell sweet mead...and blood. To feel..."

Sylbroris was sure Lucien was madder than Cicero, for in his excitement he spun her around and back, dipped her low before pulling her back close to him, their clasped hands outstretched in some sort of assassin's tango.

"I wasn't aware you were a dancer, Mr. Lachance." Syl chuckled, feeling slightly more at ease. Slightly.

"I have killed many, my dear. From emaciated beggars to bloated lords, from simple cutpurses to pirate kings. One must blend into a crowd, and sometimes that crowd is dancing."

They waltzed round and round the Archmage chambers.

"One must have one's hobbies." Syl smiled. "Next thing I know you will make me a doily."

"That I know nothing about. But crochet needles can put out unwanted, prying eyes."

Syl laughed again. "Always with the improvisation. Well now what?"

Lucien-in-the-apprentice-suit kissed her again, this time with firey passion. Syl suddely felt like she was in some bodice ripper novel, but the apprentice was no long haired god-man with muscles that rippled like waves on the sea, and she was no high-bosomed beauty. Suddenly the young man slumped in her arms. Uh oh.

He blinked and opened his eyes, then they were both suddenly aware that he unabashedly had a handful each of her bare breasts. The apprentice squealed in joy and fainted. Clutching her robes closed, Sylbroris nudged the boy with her toe.

"Sylbroris, my love. Are you up here? "

Onmund rounded the stairs smiling, but his smile fell as soon as he saw the young man crumpled on the floor. "What happened?"

Syl swallowed hard. Should she just come out and tell him that this poor sod was playing 'hot for teacher' and the jig was up?

"He came to see me and just collapsed. I will fetch the healers..."

A hand on her shoulder stopped her. Onmund shook his head. "Do not worry, he will be fine."

Together in silence they laid the apprentice onto the double bed. Sylbroris took up her mortar and pestle and sniffed its contents, almost vomiting before resuming her experiment. Onmund looked on and forced himself to speak.

"Do you know why he came to see you?"

Sylbroris grunted negatively and her face screwed up as her eyes watered from the pungence of her 'potion'. Twisting the hem of his robes, Onmund tried to find the right words. He was sure he'd develop a migraine then suddenly tried to remember exactly how much nightshade would be lethal to him as he was now certain he would rather die than confess.

"He was...it's a letter of resignation from the guild. An apology..and a confession he wrote you. " Onmund spouted the words as if clumsily speaking Common for the first time.

His wife scratched her head with a hawk quill. "Yup, this is definitely poison..." She muttered to herself. "What are you babbling about?"

"I've lain with him!" Onmund squeaked. "We are lovers. I have been unfaithful and I am sorry. He was quitting and moving to Cyrodill before you could...um...Shout him off a cliff."

Sylbroris laughed. "You play for both teams, On? Way to go! And you should know that elves are notorious sluts. I haven't been faithful to you for even half a second. Just a moment ago your boytoy waas feeling me up, how's THAT strike you?"

She spun around to face him, and to her surprise his eyes lit up in fury and magical flames crackled to life in his hands. "You cuckolding she-devil!"

Syl snorted. "Really, Onmund? I am Dragonborn. Do you really think you stand a chance?" She eyed him carefully for a while, then he lowered his hands, dispelling the magic. Onmund felt dizzy. He stared at his feet a long time before speaking.

"What do we do now? We have sinned in the eyes of Mara already and she frowns upon...divorce..."

Just then the apprentice stirred.

"Cuckolding she-devil, you're so cheesy." Syl giggled. "Well...I think we can come to a compromise..." Her gaze turned to the apprentice.

Onmund didn't know what a 'threesome' was until now. He loved Sylbroris and his nameless apprentice both, and to have them at once was sheer ecstasy. They lay for a long time afterwards, Sylbroris in the center, feeling like a goddess. Still, the scandal would ultimately reach unwanted ears and the apprentice resigned. The pair bid him farewell and returned to their home of Hjerim in Windhelm. As though taken by some perverse lust, as though Sylbroris had either hexed him with her personal charms or powerful magic, he soon shared in her escapades. It was he who suggested they bed their housecarl, Calder. More than once they drank and...and well, made each other squeal. The second or third time (he couldn't remember which) Calder was almost violent with them and paid more attention to Sylbroris, much to his disappointment. Come to think of it, their tryst with the young mage, he was acting rather odd.

But the question burning in Onmund's mind was...who in Oblivion was Lucien?

~The End~


End file.
